


Tinted Mirrors (Widowtracer)

by CinnamonMunchKen



Category: Overwatch (Video Game), Widowtracer - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Chronal Disassociation, F/F, Terrorism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-16
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-24 08:32:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7501326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CinnamonMunchKen/pseuds/CinnamonMunchKen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cracked ammo casings and crumbled brick littered the blood-stained pavement; countless dead civilians – human and Omnic alike – lay strewn about the streets, bullets soaring through the smoke. Talon lay in wait, ready to lay siege to the Undercity; where the Omnics dwelt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The City Burns

**Author's Note:**

> Still a work in progress. Chapter 3 will be finished soon.

Lena lay in bed, tossing and turning; gazing at the empty pillow beside her with a melancholy expression on her face.

 

_I thought I was supposed to be the adventurer._

_I wanted to travel the world with you. I still do._

Bed sheets lay bunched about her ankles; the brisk night air lightly drifting across her calves from the nearby open window.

 

And then came the blast.

 

The aftershock made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. On her nightstand she could hear a panicked voice emitting from the distress comm on her right-arm bracer. The signal was faint and Lena had little room for interpretation but she could just barely make out something regarding the Undercity. Lena eased up on one elbow; checking the alarm clock: 2:36 AM. Amélie had left for Annecy a week ago. She missed her, though she would never admit it; her huntress would’ve been insufferably pleased with herself, not that she would admit that either. Shifting to the edge of the bed, the young pilot cradled her cheek in the palm of her hand, leaning forward as she gazed out of her bedroom window far into the distance with heavy-lidded eyes, watching the smoke smudge the dark night sky.

 

_My city needs me._

_No rest for the weary._

 

Blinking across the rooftops in a soft, blue blur, Lena – Tracer now, she was on duty – followed the deep grey streaks painting the starry skies. Lights flicked on within buildings, but did little to pierce the ever-lingering darkness. Riots and violence writhed below her; people crying ‘judgement day’, ‘divine intervention’, ‘prophecy’. The wailing drone of police sirens were the only thing drowning out the hateful screams. King’s Row was a hotbed for racial tension; more so now since the recent public assassination of Tekharta Mondatta. To walk down a street and not see Omnic abuse, be it verbal, physical or even in graffiti, was a seldom occurrence.

The thick smell of ozone and iron ran rampant through her nose. Smoke and gunpowder were palpable in the heated breeze wafting off the various fires. Winston was at the fore with the other agents; scrapping with the Talon operatives to blame for this carnage. Lena blinked to the top of an overpass, shaking her head in disbelief at the raw chaos laid bare beneath her: the air reeked of death, the walls were singed by the raging fires that burned black with the scrap remains of the dead. Lena had seen death before, danced on its tongue, even laughed in its face but _this_ … this was just too much.

Through the corner of her eye Tracer could see a beautiful pair of angelic wings shrouded in the smoky mist. Mercy was tending to the lucky few who managed to survive the initial blast, many of them saturated in their own blood, begging for it all to stop. The familiar sight brought a small ounce of comfort in the misery; Mercy always found a way to bring a little light into the darkness.

Kneeling down beside her, she watched as Mercy clutched tightly to an injured child, “No… No, no, no, no… wh-what happened?” Tracer whimpered, tears beginning to form in her eyes.

“Talon… they…” Angela’s voice was faded, raspy as she looked down into the boy’s nearly lifeless eyes. The child was never going to make it and they both knew. Lena averted her eyes, jamming them shut as if trying to act like nothing around her was real, just another nightmare she’d eventually wake up from if she wished long and hard enough, but it was little less than a sick joke. She heard the cries as spent brass shells fell to the charred earth like scalding hot hail stones.

“Go,” Angela whispered softly, placing a hand on Lena’s tensed shoulder.

Giving a terse nod, she ran to the entrance of the Undercity to help Winston and the others hold off an onslaught of Talon’s men.

 

_Twenty bursts each gun. Aim for the head. No hesitation._

It was a rhythm she knew all too well; so much war and death that it had become ingrained into her. But so long as the music played, she danced; _in the hearts of her friends, in the jaws of death, in sweet victory, in bitter defeat_ and today would be no exception. Winston looked as though he had crawled out from under the gates of hell; his fur dyed black with soot and shrapnel, his once warm yellow eyes replaced with a primal red. Tracer led this dance; blinking to and fro, twirling around a barrage of bullets. Her presence alone was enough to force a retreat of the terrorists, nevermind the hellish beast beside her.

Grabbing his arm, Tracer looked up into the scientist’s heavy, pained eyes.

“What happened?” Tracer asked, not letting go of his arm, her eyes bloodshot and hazy as she stared up at him like a lost girl.

“Talon planted a b-”

And in an instant time stood still as a Talon fighter jet crashed into the ground. The explosion rippled through the Undercity. Winston instinctively dropped a shield to try and protect them both but his efforts would be pointless; the jet was fitted with a remote EMP device that sliced through his shield upon impact. The knock-back sent Lena flying, slamming her down into the ground; rendering her unconscious immediately.

 

* * *

Tracer came to a few hours later, awoken by the foreign sensation of hot embers on her face. Her goggles were cracked and she could taste blood in her mouth. Nothing major was out of place, she didn’t think, but then again she wouldn’t be able to tell if there was. She couldn’t see anything through the smoke except but the downed remains of what was once a two-seater jet, now sheathed in flames. A faint, static buzzing partnered with a loud crackle of electricity caught her attention as she looked down to see her accelerator cracked open. Rolling over onto her back, she gasped for air as she ran her trembling fingers over the crack; desperate, slurred cries falling on deaf ears as she faded from existence.

 

* * *

The flames enclosed around her. No escape. Nowhere to recall to but Lena didn’t care. In her mind she was right where she wanted to be; back home, held in Amélie’s arms.


	2. A World Not My Own

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read this and my other works on my Tumblr: CinnamonMunchKen. Chapter 3 is a work in progress.

As Lena looked up at the crumbling ceiling above her, a somber laugh escaped her dry, parted lips. 

The cruel irony of her possible salvation being brought about by her greatest fear was not lost on her.

* * *

As her vision turned to black old scars began to fade and open wounds drew closed. Her somber laugh turned chilling scream as the pain set in. Her throat ran dry and voice cracked as she tried to call out. Tears streaming down her face with every passing moment, her chest contracting until she couldn’t breathe.

She was hearing every voice she’d ever heard -and will ever hear and feeling every emotion she’d ever felt all at once. Her body convulsing until it shook violently. She could feel her skin burn and her ears bleed. And just when she thought she was about to pass out, about to finally die - silence. 

It felt like whatever had been torturing her, toying with her just _stopped_. As if it grew tired. As if it no longer deemed Lena worthy of it’s attention.

* * *

Wailing sirens blared atop half a dozen firetrucks fighting to quench what would be remembered as a thousand flames, Overwatch agents clambered over each other in a futile attempt to look for survivors but they knew damn well: Talon doesn’t leave ‘survivors’ they leave messages, warning shots so close your head that they’ll leave your ears ringing just to remind you that you’re _never_ out of reach, _never_ too safe, _never_ untouchable.

  
The hour grew darker as the body count rose by the minute and police fought to contain the riots that spread like wildfire. The city mourned as families and friends gathered to watch news reports and listen to radio updates and rioters gathered in the streets with picket signs and makeshift weapons ready to watch the Undercity burn.

  
Their hunger for chaos would not go unsated.

The last 24 hours would be regarded as King’s Row’s darkest day.

Still no sign of Lena.

* * *

Winston and Angela made their way to the crash sight - barging through the crowd of distraught onlookers, picket signs plastered in venomous hate and press - desperate to find any trace of Lena but things looked bleak and, given the circumstances they feared the worst.

Her body wasn’t with the others, It hadn’t even been found.

“…Winston” Angela started, reaching out to grab his arm but he simply flinched, running his fingers over the same patch of fur that Lena had grabbed just a few hours ago. His eyes; both tired and desperate. “You didn’t fail her, okay? You’ve _never_ failed her” Angela’s words faded to nothing in Winston’s head, he just watched his daughter _die_ , he just watched _countless_ innocents die. As far as he was concerned he had failed her, he’d failed them all. It was the space shuttle all over again.

* * *

Easing up, Lena slowly raised her cheek from up against the brick pavement. 

Her first feeling was uncertainty;

So many unanswered questions lingered in the back of her mind, she didn’t know where she was, for she could literally be _anywhere_. In the here and now she wasn’t even sure whether she was alive or dead. 

And that’s what scared her the most.

  


Instinctively running her hands across her chest she found that her accelerator was gone. Helplessness and despair fell in equal measure as she looked down at herself only to be met with the unwelcome sight of a ghostly silhouette where her ‘worldly’ body had once been. 

She could see the disheveled earth straight through her fingers and winced at all the memories that came with it.

These memories; Lena thought she had buried them deep beneath a facade of smiles. Her chipper mask now cracked wide open as she tried to cry but realized she had no more tears to shed.

  
No body meant that she no longer felt earthly desires; she no longer felt pain, hunger, thirst, she no longer had to breathe, sleep or eat.

She still didn’t know how to react to that.

  
She took a moment to look around, to take in her surroundings, she could only see and hear what was being shown to her, what whoever was in charge here allowed her to see. King’s Row, she recognized the etchings in the brick walls. “Built to serve” Lena knew it was only a reflection but it was saddening all the same to see that the ample hate and close-mindedness had reached so far.

_But this was not the King’s Row she remembered_

_Nor wanted to_

  
There was no color, no life, everything was bleak, stone grey, a taciturn remnant of what once was a great city now looked like a static TV screen. Tall skyscrapers close enough to touch but appeared further and further away the second you got too close. 

It was like Lena was looking through a tinted mirror, at a world not her own. She had to get home; that’s where she kept her spare accelerator.

Simple, right?

This realm was limitless, infinite; It was a place where imagination defines reality, where willpower dictates ones surroundings. Nothing in this realm _truly_ existed; it was simply a distorted reflection of Lena’s memories - or atleast that’s how Winston explained it - so for Lena to be the only _real_ thing there…She had to get back home.

* * *

After what felt like hours Winston and Angela finally found the crater, no one dared deny Winston access, the look in his eyes; a harrowing mix of dread and irritation. Everyone simply stood aside, the grim sight of the two agents enough to grant them clearance without pause. 

A downed jet sectioned off by police tape, the Talon icon present but barely legible. And roughly 30 yards away from the crater a single scrap of leather: a pilot’s wings labeled “Trac” and her singed accelerator; cracked straight down the middle.

Angela mouth hung agape as Winston ran to pick up the single scrap, his demeanor changing from despondent from to broken man in a heartbeat. Angela stood over the mourning scientist, not daring an attempt at envisioning the personal hell he must be going through.

The thought of Winston losing the girl that brought him bananas everyday to make sure he was eating right, who sometimes fell asleep on his desk to which he’d never wake her, he’d simply work around her. The thought tugged at her heart until it grew heavy. Neither had anything to say. There was nothing they could say to ward off the melancholy presence.

* * *

Lena closed her eyes trying to think long and hard about her home, any strong memories of that place: Her parents helping her unpack the day she moved in, the mixed look of pride and acceptance when they finally realized their daughter was becoming independent, the first time she stepped foot on the balcony and saw the skyline from her bedroom window, the many times she and Hana stayed up all night playing videogames until the crack of dawn. The look on Amélie’s face when she gave her a key to her flat on her birthday.

  
Continuing to walk forward Lena started passing areas of King’s Row that began to look more and more familiar: The coffee shop she’d visit every morning, the chippy, the park with the intricate jogging path and the birds that chirped every morning. 

It wasn’t long before Lena found herself back on her home road, a feeling of pride and relief swept over her. Impressed that she made it this far on her own again. The first time she was disassociated she faded from existence for months; forced to wander the lonely chasms of the beyond with no one to talk to but herself. Had Winston not saved her she inevitably would’ve lost her mind; becoming an empty husk of what once was a bright young pilot. 

But she was home now, escape was in reach.

Phasing through a wall to enter the building - she hated doing that, it served as a constant reminder that she was merely an entity. Little more than a ghost or spirit. The stuff of dreams or nightmares; it felt strange and unnatural.

Progressing to the top of the building Lena tentatively placed her hand on the doorknob - Overjoyed that she could even touch it in the first place, this meant that the accelerator was inside so everything near it in this world would be viable for her to touch. Ready to phase through the wall again she discovered that she didn’t have to: 

  
Strangely her door was already unlocked.


End file.
